


Another Dust Road

by ackermom



Category: Tales of Symphonia
Genre: Mentions of Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-28
Updated: 2015-05-28
Packaged: 2018-04-01 17:03:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4027852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ackermom/pseuds/ackermom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I am an elf," she tells herself in the mirror. When the schoolchildren ask her about elven magic, she believes her own lie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Another Dust Road

**Author's Note:**

> small warning for mentioned/implied infanticide.

There must be other half-elves in Sylvarant. 

Hatred is rampant, and nowadays more than ever; the last chosen of Sylvarant, they remind her, failed. And Iselia curses the Desians again, slinging names and slurs under their breath, the human ranch looming over their town.

The hateful words do not hurt Raine anymore, if they ever did. “I am an elf,” she tells herself in the mirror, and the woman looking back at her makes no expression. Her brow is drawn and her eyes hard. When the school children ask her about elven magic, she believes her own lie. 

But there must be more of them. For such an immense hatred to have spawned, such a widespread disgust, there must be more half-elves in Sylvarant. Desians are untouchable; to keep the hatred sated, there must be someone weak, someone easy. Someone within the grasp of a village mob, someone who can be kicked in the stomach and left for thieves on the side of the road. There must be other people like her. 

“He’s growing up,” the woman in the grocer’s says. 

Raine blinks at her. “I’m sorry?”

The old woman gestures out the window and Raine catches the curious eyes of her younger brother as he darts past the store, in tow of a red-clad classmate. He gives her a wave, a small nod of the fingers, and then he is gone.

“He’s growing up,” the woman says again. She smiles sweetly, and her face wrinkles like fruit in the sun. It is so human. “You must be proud of him.”

“I am,” Raine says without thinking. She pauses. There is a beach not far from town, less than an hour on foot, and she can’t believe she lets him run off there with a human boy raised by a dwarf. 

“And he is,” she finishes. “He is growing up.”

“It’s hard,” the woman says. “Watching them go on without you. But you can’t be afraid to let him have his independence.”

“Independence,” Raine echoes. The wicker basket in her fingers pricks at her skin, and she wonders if the human boy will find out. She wonders how long before Iselia is another dust road behind them, where they will go next, and if they will ever find a home. She wonders how many halfling babies are drowned in the rivers each year, and she wonders if she should have spared Genis too. 

“Independence,” she doesn’t say, “is not what I’m afraid of.”


End file.
